


you're my golden hour (the color of my sky)

by nishtabel



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, First Time Bottoming, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Post-War, Soft and tender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:21:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24658279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishtabel/pseuds/nishtabel
Summary: “If you ever change your mind,” Dedue is saying, peeling potatoes for tonight’s stew, “I would be open to trying something new.”Ashe hums to his left, head cocked. He rubs his hands on his apron before replying, “I’m sensing a pattern, here.” His voice is kind, teasing, and Dedue doesn’t miss the smile on Ashe’s face as he turns to the pot at the fireplace. Ashe mutters something, peering inside the steaming cauldron before returning to Dedue’s side, brows creased against the sheen of sweat from the heat. “You could always ask me, you know.” A pause, as he grabs for the leeks, and then, almost shyly: “For anything.”Three years after the war, Dedue allows himself to indulge.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Dedue Molinaro
Comments: 21
Kudos: 143





	you're my golden hour (the color of my sky)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [casualbird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/casualbird/gifts).



Dedue brings it up in degrees.

First, it’s: “Have you ever—ah, been on the giving end, before?” After he says it, he thinks that _now_ may not have been the best time to bring it up, with Ashe’s soft body writhing under his, love bites and gentle bruises speckled like paint on his shoulders.

Ashe is so sweet for him, though, green eyes blinking open in a mischievous smile. “Once or twice,” he says, a little mysterious, a little teasing. He rocks his hips against Dedue’s palm where it slips between his legs, caressing and scratching at the milky flesh of Ashe’s thighs. Ashe sighs a little and wiggles cutely beneath the cage of Dedue’s body. “Why? Does that turn you on?”

Dedue blushes in the way that only Ashe can make him, high and hot on his cheekbones. “A little,” he admits. “I imagine I would have liked to see it.”

“Oh,” says Ashe, biting his lower lip through a smile. “I bet you would have, love. But—” He breaks off with a soft, airy gasp, head thrown back against the pillows. When he opens his eyes again, Dedue can see that they’re a bit misty, wet around the lashes. Ashe reaches a hand to cup Dedue’s face, eyes fluttering as Dedue sinks in a finger to the first knuckle. “But no one’s ever made love to me like you have. No one—”

Dedue cuts him off with a deep kiss, thorough and wet, and when he pulls back, Ashe looks happily dazed. Dedue makes sure he stays that way, with the love-bitten column of his neck bared, his chin tipped up to the sky as Dedue works him past the point of speech. It’s a good look for Ashe, Dedue thinks—and next time, maybe Dedue won’t ask in the middle of sex.

* * *

The next time Dedue brings it up, it’s not during sex, but it is directly afterwards. He’s been sitting on the question for almost a month, the words curling anxiously in his stomach each time he considers asking. It’s easier, then, to ask when they’re both sex-drunk and content in the glow of their own exertion.

“Are you happy, like this?” Dedue asks, even though that’s not what he means to say. When Ashe looks at him, alarmed, he clarifies: “Are you okay with me topping all the time?”

The look of concern on Ashe’s face melts into a sort of delight, tempered by the relief that smooths his brow. “Dedue,” he whispers, always hoarse after sex. “Love.” His eyes are bright and tender, and Dedue thinks that no one should look so effortlessly beautiful with cum on their chin and several sweaty cowlicks. Ashe manages, anyway. He smiles when he says, “I’m happy with whatever you want to give me.”

Dedue gapes, just a bit, before pursing his lips in a smile. “Of course you are,” he says, amusement threading his voice. “But you know I have to ask. I would hate to make _this_ ”—he gestures to their bodies, flushed and glistening—“all about me.”

Ashe shakes his head with a smile. “Don’t worry about me,” he says, rolling onto his side. The sheets stick to his back for a moment, before unpeeling with a wet sound. Ashe makes a face—the one where he sticks his tongue out, one eye scrunched shut—before smoothing a hand down Dedue’s chest. “I’m just happy to have you here with me.” Then, with a wicked smile: “Your cock is a nice bonus, though.”

Dedue snorts. “Alright,” he says, and kisses the tip of Ashe’s nose. Ashe happily lets him.

* * *

By the third time, Ashe has started to catch on. Dedue can see it in the curve of his mouth, indulgent and only the smallest bit sly.

“If you ever change your mind,” Dedue is saying, peeling potatoes for tonight’s stew, “I would be open to trying something new.”

Ashe hums to his left, head cocked. He rubs his hands on his apron before replying, “I’m sensing a pattern, here.” His voice is kind, teasing, and Dedue doesn’t miss the smile on Ashe’s face as he turns to the pot at the fireplace. Ashe mutters something, peering inside the steaming cauldron before returning to Dedue’s side, brows creased against the sheen of sweat from the heat. “You could always ask me, you know.” A pause, as he grabs for the leeks, and then, almost shyly: “For anything.”

Dedue is practiced enough with a blade to keep the knife steady in his hands, even as his heart gallops wildly. “I know that,” he says, because he does, in theory. He and Ashe have spent a lot of time together—years, at this point, beyond the end of the war and into their comfortable new life as innkeeps—and that time has molded them both into something softer, gentler, more equal. Ashe’s bow hangs unassuming on the wall of the dining hall, more of a tourist attraction than an armory, and Dedue’s axe sits lonely in their storage shed. The threat of battle loomed over both of them for too long to allow them to throw away their weapons, but they do their best to leave them untouched—aside from the occasional restringing or oiling that both of them pretend to ignore. The war will never completely leave them, but Dedue takes pride in the softening of Ashe’s face, the smoothing of his back; each night without a nightmare is an achievement.

So, yes, Dedue trusts Ashe. He trusts him—his partner, his husband, his most beloved companion—with his life. They fought and they won and they earned this peace, and every day, Dedue is thankful for it.

His gratitude, however, doesn’t make what he _wants_ any easier.

“Dedue,” Ashe says, lying a gentle hand on Dedue’s arm. When Dedue glances down, he sees Ashe is almost done slicing the leeks. “Come back to me, love.”

“Mm. My apologies.” Dedue leans into Ashe’s touch, grounding himself against the calluses that are slowly, slowly softening. “I got distracted.”

Ashe smiles, pinching lightly at Dedue’s arm. “I know,” he says, because he’s a brat, but also because he’s grown to know Dedue startlingly well. “Wanna share your thoughts?”

There’s no pressure behind that statement, and Dedue knows it. Perhaps that’s why he nods. “Yes,” he says, setting down his knife and reaching for the damp towel above his cutting board. He allows himself to formulate his words while cleaning his hands, but when he sets the towel down, he sighs. No more procrastinating, then. He turns towards Ashe and says, “I feel as though I’ve been neglecting you.”

Ashe’s eyes go wide, but he’s learned enough to trust that Dedue will elaborate. Instead of immediately rejecting the statement, he shakes his head and says, “Alright. I don’t feel that way, but let’s talk.” His face is open, honest, and Dedue loves him more than words can express.

“I—” Here, he takes a deep breath, steadying not just his hands, but his voice. “I do not ask as often as I should...what you would like out of our sexual relationship.”

Ashe’s face splits into a soft smile, gentle and kind, and Dedue doesn’t feel _pitied_ , he feels—almost seen. He just needs to keep talking.

Shaking his head, he continues, “That’s not entirely honest, either. I believe we’re both pleasers, in that I do what I think you want, and you do what you think _I_ want, and...most of the time, that works, but.” A strangled laugh escapes him. “I’m struggling to express my own desires. And—I find myself thinking, maybe you are, too.”

Ashe nods, slowly, big eyes trained on Dedue’s. After an appropriate amount of silence has passed—after Ashe opens his mouth, and Dedue nods—Ashe speaks. “I have never hesitated to ask for what I want from you,” he says, seriously. When Dedue snorts, Ashe flushes just below his freckles and amends, “Garreg Mach doesn’t count, and you know it.” Dedue offers his hands in defeat, and Ashe continues. “I love you, and you make me happy, and I want to make you happy, too! I hate that you feel as though there’s something you can’t ask me, and while I’m not so selfish to think that this is all about _me_ ”—a quick smile to mirror Dedue’s own—“I hope there’s something I can do to make it a little bit easier.”

A long breath. “Thank you, Ashe,” Dedue says, and cups Ashe’s cheek in his palm. “It’s nothing you’ve done. It’s—well. The war, you could say. Being a shield for so long. Serving his Highness. Outside of reestablishing peace with Duscur, I don’t think I had many desires.”

Ashe smiles sweetly at that, a little impish. “I’m glad to have been the exception,” he says.

Dedue rumbles a laugh. “You made me work for it, though.”

“Oh, please,” says Ashe, “like I wasn’t _easy_.”

For a moment, Dedue pretends to think. “Maybe a little,” he allows.

Ashe looks proud, then, so Dedue continues.

“It’s hard to express desires when I am—not sure if they will be reciprocated,” he says. “I wish that weren’t the case. I wish I were stronger.”

“You’re plenty strong,” says Ashe, pouting. “Besides—you’re allowed to struggle with things, sometimes. I don’t sleep with Mr. Fluffles for no reason, you know.”

Dedue cracks a smile at the name. “And here I thought I might eventually be enough for you.”

“Never,” says Ashe, smiling back. “You’re pretty good with an axe, but no one can beat Mr. Fluffles in one-on-one combat.”

“You’re right,” Dedue says, nodding sagely. “That old bunny has more scars than I do.”

“And he earned all of them,” says Ashe with a sniff. “But—you know what I mean. Things are hard, sometimes. Don’t make them harder by tearing yourself down.”

Dedue considers Ashe’s words, testing the weight of them in his mind. He should just _ask_ , shouldn’t he? And if Ashe says no—well. Dedue has it on good authority that it’s the worst Ashe could do.

With a final sigh and a self-deprecating grin, Dedue looks at Ashe and says, “Alright. May I ask something of you?”

Ashe nods. “Of course, love.”

“Would you please...make love to me, as I make love to you?”

Confusion wrinkles Ashe’s brow before his face lights up. “De _due_ ,” he says, altogether too excited, “are you asking me to _fuck_ you?”

Dedue colors, because of course he does. “I.” He swallows. “Yes. I—suppose.”

“I would be happy too,” says Ashe, eyes wide and bright with interest. At least it’s not a rejection, Dedue thinks. “Oh, love, I always wondered—”

Dedue clears his throat. “Thank you,” he manages, before he’s overcome with embarrassment. “You are too kind.”

“I am _not_ ,” Ashe says with a gasp. He levels Dedue with an accusatory finger, even as his eyes still glint with mischief. “Do not for a second think that I’m doing this as a favor, Dedue. I love you, _and_ I want to please you, but you’re also hot as hell, and this is as much as gift to me as it is to you—”

Dedue stops him with a cough. “Thank you,” he says again, still overwhelmed. “You’ve made me...very happy.”

Ashe beams from ear to ear. “Oh, Dedue. I love you so much.”

Turning back to the potatoes, Dedue says, “I love you, too,” because he does, and then he picks up his knife and begins to chop.

* * *

Ashe, thankfully, waits for Dedue to bring it up again. The next two weeks are busy for them, placing them just before the summer solstice and Faerghus’s annual festivities. They’re prepared, of course—this is their third year with the inn—but they have food and drink arriving every day, followed always by one or two new travelers from Adrestia.

On the Sunday before the solstice, Dedue and Ashe find themselves turning in early, with the kitchen clean and organized and their best barkeep on duty. Simon can handle things tonight, and if he can’t, Dedue has no doubt he’ll call Melody to help. She’s no trained barkeep, but she makes her fair share in tips, and Dedue has seen her pour a crisp, frothing mug of ale on more than one occasion. They’ll be fine.

Ashe falls into bed with a giggle, already half-naked as Dedue bolts the door. He does this, sometimes: wiggles and writhes among the sheets, ass half-covered by their thin summer blanket as he locks eyes with Dedue from across the room. Ashe knows what he’s doing, and as usual, Dedue is putty in his hands.

Dedue joins his husband on the bed with a small smile. He manages to place a kiss on the top of Ashe’s head before Ashe huffs and reaches for the ribbon that holds Dedue’s hair out of his face. Dedue melts beneath his fingers, nimble and light as they tug at the green tie. The silk ribbon had been a wedding gift—one of many from Hilda, who had crafted them a veritable rainbow of charms and jewelry and dainty little ribbons. Ashe places the gift carefully on the bedside table before turning back to Dedue.

“Your hair always looks so good down,” Ashe says, a little besotted. His eyes gleam by the light of the lantern, the glow of the fire. He threads careful fingers through the long cascade of Dedue’s hair, all silver silk and mercury. It hangs below his shoulders, now, if he lets it—although he rarely does. This sight is one he reserves for Ashe. “I’m so happy you decided to grow it out.”

Dedue smiles and meets his lips for a slow, heated kiss. Ashe’s face is flushed by the time he pulls back, breathing tiny little breaths against the swell of Dedue’s reddened lips. “Only for you, love,” says Dedue, and he means it. Ashe is worth everything: the war, the rusting of his blade, the arrow Dedue took to the shoulder in order to protect him. Ashe’s fingers trace the scar now, as though remembering; it sits mottled and pink just below his collarbone.

“You’re so good to me,” Ashe whispers, and while it’s meant to be teasing, it comes out a little breathless. The flush is high on his cheeks, the dense pattern of his freckles standing in sharp relief. Dedue wants to count each one, kiss them, follow the constellation of each spot from his nose to his shoulders to his chest. Ashe has always been cute— _always_ —but the comfort of peace has made him handsome, soft.

Dedue presses a kiss to the tip of Ashe’s nose, before leaning in to tilt their foreheads together. Like this, Ashe can never decide which of Dedue’s eyes to focus on, and Dedue watches in amusement as Ashe’s eyes flit rapidly between them. “And you to me,” murmurs Dedue with a smile.

Ashe flusters easily, especially under the weight of Dedue’s compliments. He huffs and sighs and averts his eyes, even as Dedue laughs and presses Ashe’s face between two big hands. Ashe pouts and says, “Okay, _okay_ ,” before slithering out of Dedue’s grasp. With a bump and a roll, Ashe is straddling Dedue’s waist, looking so victorious that Dedue can’t help but roll his hips against the ass pressed so sweetly against him.

“What now?” Dedue asks, playful. He palms Ashe’s ass with a single hand, smiling as Ashe shivers. Easy displays of _largeness_ —the way Dedue’s hand cups almost the entirety of Ashe’s ass, the way Ashe’s legs are spread wide just to straddle the girth of Dedue’s thighs—always fluster Ashe, and when Dedue makes a show of glancing between Ashe’s legs, he’s happy to see that his husband is already half-hard.

“Now,” Ashe pants, “I’m going to make good on my promise.”

Dedue feels his entire body heat, from groin to chest to face, all in a steady wave of _want_. Ashe must see it happen—must feel it, where Dedue’s cock is stirring below him—because he grins, quick and wide, and trails his fingers up Dedue’s chest. He stops briefly to cord slim fingers through the silver hair on Dedue’s chest, lips parted and pink when he asks, “Does that sound alright to you, love?”

Dedue nods. “Yes,” he says, basking in the gentle glow of Ashe’s attention. “Yes, of course.”

Ashe’s smile grows impossibly wider, mischief curling at the edges. With a single, chaste kiss against Dedue’s forehead, he says, “Oh, Dedue, we’re going to have so much fun tonight.”

With a shiver, Dedue agrees. His entire body begins to sing with adrenaline, the hope of a wish—however small, however petty—fulfilled. The thrill of asking and receiving.

Ashe dismounts with a shimmy and a playful look over his shoulder, stepping over to the bedside table in search of lube. Sword oil had worked for a time, but with the war behind them, it had begun to feel needless, almost masochistic. Apparently, Ashe had agreed, as he’d shown up not one week after the opening of their inn with a slick bottle of oil that had, according to Ashe, been imported from Almyra.

Ashe finds the bottle after a moment of rummaging, gasping in delight as he holds it up. Climbing back onto the bed, Ashe uncorks the bottle, and the scent of honey-lavender and rosemary washes over Dedue in a pleasant sort of wave. He had worried, early on, that he would grow tired of the smell, but he’s been thankful to find it simply reminds him of Ashe.

“Hands and knees, please,” says Ashe, and Dedue obeys. He feels clumsy like this, overbig, ass in the air as Ashe situates himself behind Dedue. He feels—exposed, he thinks, and he _wants_ this, more than words could express, but—

“Could you—touch me,” Dedue murmurs, embarrassed. He can feel his thoughts racing beyond the confines of his brain, and he knows himself well enough to seek a soothing touch.

“Of course, love.” Ashe’s hand is smooth and warm against the curve of Dedue’s ass, pinching playfully as he explores. There’s no oil on his hands, not yet, but he does part the globes of Dedue’s ass with an unsteady sigh. “You’re beautiful like this,” Ashe whispers, one thumb caressing the delicate skin just above Dedue’s hole. “So open for me, love. So vulnerable.”

Dedue gasps when Ashe’s lips follow his thumb, soft and chapped from biting. “Oh,” he breathes, twitching against Ashe’s mouth. It trails open-mouthed kisses from the base of his spine to the wanton throbbing of his hole, teeth grazing just to the left of where Dedue wants them. “Oh, Ashe—”

Ashe’s free hand finds Dedue’s balls, already plump with arousal, and as Dedue groans long and low, Ashe teases the tight pucker of his entrance with an eager tongue. Dedue gasps, pants, _whines_ , and it’s not like Ashe has never done this before, but it’s never been like this—it’s never been the foreplay, the sweet and spicy promise of future pleasure. Ashe licks him open like a man starved, clever tongue piercing him with a slick sigh and a shared, low moan.

By the time Ashe pulls back, Dedue feels himself begin to shatter. The anticipation winds tight with the thick curl of arousal in his gut, and Ashe’s talented fingers have worked his cock to stiff attention. He’s dripping onto the sheets, wet and overwrought, and he can’t imagine he can’t wait much longer for Ashe to finally complete him.

“Patience, love,” says Ashe, always keen to Dedue’s thoughts. “I’ve still got to open you up, alright?” His voice is tight, high, wrecked just from eating Dedue out, and Dedue feels a thrill of pride at the thought. _Ashe is enjoying this as much as I am_ , he thinks, warm and bright.

Dedue nods, resting his forehead against the pillow he’s bunched below his head. He’s very quickly gone from hands to elbows, fisting roughly at the sheets as he tries to steady his arms, his breathing. Ashe’s fingers prod gently at his entrance, all soft touches and smooth oil, and when the first one begins to press in, Dedue lets out a low groan.

Ashe hums behind him, working his finger up to the first knuckle. “You’re so tight,” he says, awed and breathless. “So good for me, love, that’s it, just let me in.” The adjustment is steady, slow, and Ashe gentles him through it, soothing and sweet. Ashe asks, “Can you handle another one?” once Dedue is rocking back against his palm, the weight of that single finger inside him.

“Yes,” says Dedue, because yes, he can—he wants it, now, arousal blurring the edges of his mind and body and the very core of where Ashe strokes him, teases him. “—Please.”

Two fingers are a stretch and a burn, Dedue’s body opening beneath his husband’s tender strokes. He takes two fingers to the first knuckle, the second, rolling his hips with the rhythm of Ashe’s hand, his wrist, the tight circle of his breathing. Ashe knows what he’s doing, taking his time and murmuring so softly behind Dedue; his left hand skates across the swell of Dedue’s ass, the curve of his thigh and the twitching of his neglected cock.

“You’re doing so well for me, love,” murmurs Ashe, scissoring his fingers and watching Dedue crumple onto the sheets. “Oh, you’re so pretty like this, so beautiful—I’m the luckiest man alive, I think, to see you like this, all stretched and open for me, Dedue, my love, light of my life, _look_ at you—”

Ashe finds his prize and moans when Dedue clenches around him, tight heat and fluttering pulse. Dedue knows what it is—knows to aim for Ashe’s prostate with his own fingers, the blunt head of his cock—but he’s never _felt_ it, not like this, not with the singing and howling of his own nerves so desperately coiled within his gut. Ashe strokes it again, and again, and _again_ , touch soft and electric, a full-body sensation that has Dedue sweating and raw and tangling eagerly in the sheets.

“One more, I think,” says Ashe, and Dedue doesn’t know how Ashe _does_ it, how he waits so patiently every time Dedue prepares him. Does it not drive him mad, to be opened like this? To know that this is only the beginning—the mounting pressure of the storm, mere wind compared to the wild churning of hail and thunder and lightning that threatens to erupt on his skin?

“Please, Ashe, I—” Dedue groans as Ashe pours oil directly onto the last divot of his spine, warmed already by Ashe’s kind hand. It slithers down his skin, slick and coy where it trails slowly, slowly between the parted crease of his ass, wet where it kisses his fluttering hole.

Three fingers press against him, breaching him with little resistance. If Dedue had felt full before—he feels his body splitting open, spilling past the brim of his desire, overrun and overwhelmed by the gentling of Ashe’s eager hands. Three fingers slip inside of him with an obscene squelch, slick and wanton and Dedue feels it _everywhere_ , from the base of his spine to the tip of his ears, all the way to his trembling arms, the shuddering of his chest and the hard press of his nipples against the sheets. They stretch him open, part and _hold_ him open, with careful brushes against his prostate that leave Dedue groaning in an impatient heap.

When Ashe withdraws his fingers, Dedue feels himself clench around open air, uncomfortably empty and stretched. It had felt fine— _good_ —with Ashe’s fingers to fill him, but without them, Dedue feels incomplete.

“Are you ready, love?” comes Ashe’s voice from behind him, all honey and saccharin sugar. His hands are a comforting pressure against the gooseflesh of Dedue’s thighs.

“Yes.” Dedue breathes in the scent of Almyran pine, of lavender and honey and the sweet prickling of rosemary. “Yes, I—yes. Please, Ashe.”

“So good for me,” says Ashe, with a pat to Dedue’s ass. “You look so good like this, love, so _good_ —”

Ashe’s cock is blunt against Dedue’s hole, slick where it presses and slips between the crease of him. Ashe exhales, a delicate, fluttering thing, and then he’s caught—cockhead poised at Dedue’s entrance, pressing in and in and in until Dedue can hardly breathe, can’t speak to moan Ashe’s name.

“ _Oh_ ,” Ashe breathes, fingers curling tight around Dedue’s hips. He’s rocking forward in little thrusts, little jerking motions, and Dedue already can’t believe how deep he is, how eagerly Dedue’s body cleaves to him.

“Oh,” Dedue echoes, eyes heavy-lidded and wet around the edges. Ashe’s cock is solid, thick, so much longer than his fingers—so much more _unyielding_ , an iron brand where it carves a space inside Dedue’s desperate body. “Ashe, love, is this—are you—”

“Almost, almost,” says Ashe, because he knows what Dedue’s asking, always so keen to his husband’s thoughts. His fingers grasp at Dedue’s hips, white-knuckled and barely clawed, and when he bottoms out, Dedue feels it.

It feels—it feels like completion, like Ashe has filled him so full he’ll never empty, like they’re one because they _are_ , they are, and does Ashe always feel like this?—like Dedue has completed him, like they’ve been tied so tight that even the gods— _flames_ , even Seiros herself couldn’t untangle them?

“You may—go faster,” says Dedue, all thick tongue and broken voice. “If you wish.”

Ashe laughs behind him, sweet and bright, and rolls his hips gently against Dedue’s own. Dedue parts easily for him, held open and _filled_ , and he finds that he’s greedy for it, desperate for it. He’s teased Ashe for this very same feeling, before, and isn’t that just rich?—a glutton teaching his brother the virtue of temperance?

“As you wish, love.” Ashe’s thrusts build in speed, still gentle but for the fervid slap of flesh on flesh, the curve of Ashe’s cock as it spears Dedue open and— _filthy_ , is what they are, sweat and oil and the tears on Dedue’s face, wet in his lashes as Ashe makes love to him again and again and again.

Just as the pressure begins to build almost unbearably in Dedue’s balls, Ashe stills. “I’d like to see your face,” he says, and _oh_ , Dedue feels his own cock twitch at the thought.

“Yes. Yes,” Dedue agrees, and winces only slightly when Ashe pulls himself free of Dedue’s body. It’s a rustling, a bit of awkward maneuvering, but soon Dedue is on his back with his knees pressed towards his shoulders—still flexible for all the training they’ve done, the years of gardening and carpentry and running maypole in the spring—and Ashe stares down at him, wide-eyed and flushed, lips parted and pink and bitten bright.

“Oh,” Ashe says, and Dedue’s thinks it’s hotter like this, more overwhelming, with his body on display and Ashe’s eyes so warm and misty. “Goddess, but you’re beautiful like this, Dedue.” His hands are soft and reverent against Dedue’s chest, tracing old scars and bites and burns, the beginnings of this summer’s tan. He lights, at last, on Dedue’s flushed cock, red and drooling against the hard planes of his stomach. Ashe’s fingers are feather-light against the head, thumb teasing precome from the slit as Dedue’s breathing grows more ragged.

“I can’t believe we’ve waited so long to do this,” Ashe says, as his fingers curl around the girth of Dedue’s cock. “Is this how you see me, every time? Open and desperate for you? I know you love to hear me beg, love, and—do you believe me now, that it’s all true? Do you feel how I feel, when you take me like this?”

Dedue nods, throat tight as arousal coils thick and undeniable in his gut. “Yes,” he breathes, because he can’t deny Ashe, his husband, his love. “Yes, of course.”

Ashe smiles, then, sweet and loving. “Good.”

The slow press of his cock inside of Dedue’s body is easier, now, slick with spit and oil and precome. It helps to see Ashe shuddering above him, chest flushed a pretty lily-pink beneath his freckles. They find a rhythm like this: Ashe’s head bowed in concentration, hips snapping hard against Dedue’s, one hand braced against the back of Dedue’s thigh as the other teases at the plump swell of Dedue’s balls.

“I want—I want to see you come. Like this,” pants Ashe, voice low with exertion and heat. His pupils are blown wide, all-consuming, and there’s sweat beading on his upper lip.

Dedue beckons him down, closer, just far enough so that he can capture his lips in a kiss. It’s messy, raw, open-mouthed and wet, and he relishes the moans that spill from Ashe’s mouth into his own, broken and sweet. He cups one large hand around the back of Ashe’s neck, fingers threading through the sweat-soaked hair at his nape; Ashe shivers and whines against him, thrusts growing increasingly erratic.

With a gasp, Ashe pulls back just enough to murmur, “Please, Dedue, let me see you—let me see you come, just like this, just for me.” His hand is hot and slick against Dedue’s cock, stroking in time with his own desperate thrusts, and Dedue meets him there, head thrown back against the pillows with a strangled cry.

“Yes— _yes_ ,” Dedue cries, clenching vice-tight around Ashe’s cock where it angles recklessly against his prostate. “Just like that, love, just like—Ashe, I’m almost— _oh_ —”

His cock spills between their bodies, twitching in Ashe’s grasp as he continues to thrust, to _fill_ him, to take his pleasure in Dedue’s body and make sure Dedue feels it, too. Ashe follows not long after, a wild gasp and a moan as he hangs his head against Dedue’s sweat-slick chest, hand shaking where it holds Dedue’s right leg up.

Ashe empties himself inside of Dedue, thrust by shuddering thrust. When at last he’s spent, body quaking and flushed from head to toe, he looks at Dedue and says, “How was that for your first time, hm?” A grin splits his face, easy and open, and his eyes crinkle in the corners with a breathtaking sincerity.

Dedue laughs. “Oh,” he says, with the wave of a single, unsteady hand, “you know.”

Ashe hiccups laughter and punches him in the shoulder. “Don’t be coy,” he says, even as he slips from Dedue with a noise of discomfort. “I saw your face. You loved it.”

Pretending to consider it, Dedue looks to the side. “Hm,” he says, teasing. “Did I? I thought it was the man that I loved.”

Ashe colors, an even deeper red than he had been before. “Oh?” he says, collapsing and curling into Dedue’s side. He fits so perfectly, there. “Can it not be both?”

“Perhaps,” says Dedue, and kisses the tip of Ashe’s nose. When Ashe scrunches his face, indignant, Dedue pulls him closer with a nuzzle and several rapid kisses, all around his forehead and temples and cheeks. When he pulls back, he says, quite serious, “Thank you, love.”

Ashe sniffs with mock offense. “You’re _welcome_ ,” he says, managing an eye roll. “To think I wouldn’t please my husband.”

Dedue hums. “You were lovely,” he says, and then, because that’s not enough: “And beautiful, and sexy, and perfect. And—”

“ _Shush_ ,” cries Ashe, shoving at Dedue’s face. “I swear to—”

“I love you, Ashe.” Dedue’s eyes are wide and genuine, one hand cupping the sharp curve of Ashe’s jaw. “You were so good for me tonight.”

“I—well.” Ashe seems to struggle for words, working his jaw for a moment. At last he says, “I love you, too. And—you’re welcome. I’m glad I could do this for you.”

“Careful, love,” warns Dedue. “You might have to do it again.”

“Oh?” Ashe’s eyes are bright with mischief. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to Dedue’s shoulder, a playful scrape of teeth. “Is that a promise?”

“It just might be.”

Ashe grins, wide and toothy, like he does only in front of Dedue. “It would be my pleasure,” he says, and presses a single kiss to Dedue’s cheek. “Anything for you, love.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you all for reading! i hope you enjoyed these two as much as i enjoyed writing them. 💕 
> 
> if you'd like, you can find me on twitter at [@nishtabel](https://twitter.com/nishtabel). and, if you'd like a fic of your own, i am still offering donation commissions. you can read the rules [here](https://twitter.com/nishtabel/status/1268249511102644224?s=20)! 💕


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